


The Scientific Journal of S.E.W.

by thenameismelany



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1842481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenameismelany/pseuds/thenameismelany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The journal entries of Sherlock Elizabeth Watson, age 15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A study in church scandals and me

**Author's Note:**

> ***this is a WIP check back for new chapters***

I was in so much trouble. I could feel it. 

But why?

I glanced around the dimly lit Sunday school room.  
I was standing up.

Why was I standing up?

More glancing. The other teens in the room were all sitting down, looking rather silly with these looks of astonishment on their smug, prepubescent faces. Why were they staring at me like that?

Oh. I just had on of my spells didn't I?

I look at my Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Welles. Her face had turned a shade somewhere between shockingly hot pink and a deep fuchsia.

Yep. I was in BIG trouble.

Suddenly the memory came flooding back to me as my mind finally caught up with my mouth. Crap. Did I say that?

Mrs. Welles gave me her signature look that said 'I've already called your father now go wait in the hallway'. So I did.

I had been attending this Sunday school class for no less than four weeks and I had already been sent home early every visit. I had just yesterday made a promise to my dad that I would keep my deductions under control. It was harder than it sounded. 

John Watson came strolling through the glass double doors like a storm. 

"Sherlock Elizabeth Watson you made me a promise," He spat at me, "You made me a promise that you wouldn't let this get out of hand."  
He calmed down a little and let out a big sigh. "Nevermind." He said, "we can discuss your behavior later. I'll go and sort things out." 

I heard my dad saunter into the class room just as the other kids were leaving.

"You go Shezza!"

"You are one cool bird!"

"Way to go Eliza!"

"Nice job Shez!"

God I hated it when people of inferior mental capacities tormented me. It was extremely annoying. I unwrapped and rewrapped my scarf to keep my hands busy, so as not to reach out and strangle the next angst filled delinquent that walked past me. My mum says that I'm wise beyond my years and that I don't really 'play well' with people of an average intelligence level. She's right.

It felt like hours that I had sat out there when finally, my dad came out of the class room and we started for the car.

He started the car and we pulled out of the church parking lot. We sat in grueling silence before my dad finally spoke.  
"Care to explain yourself?"

"Well..." I hesitated.

"She said that you disrupted the class with one of your deduction spells again."

"I can't help it dad! I'd really rather not learn about honesty and integrity from a woman who, so obviously, had just returned from an affair with the janitor."

"Be that as it may, you still shouldn't be ruining the experience for the other students, Eliza."

"Dad, most of the kids in that room are anywhere from 14 to 17 years old. I have never met anyone of that age who enjoyed sitting in a poorly air conditioned room, in the worlds most uncomfortable chairs, singing the books of the bible."

There was a slight pause from dad.  
"Listen sweetie. I know that this doesn't mean much to you, but I means a lot to your mother, and so it means a lot to me too. If you could just try to make things work, it would make your mum very happy."

Now it was my turn pause.  
"Alright dad. But I'm doing it for you and mum, not for that Old Bat Mrs. Welles."

Dad chuckled and smiled at me. 

"Alright, Eliza"

As always, not a word of this was spoken to my mother.  
Mary Watson could tend to be slightly melodramatic. Dad says that she got it from an old bloke her and dad used to know. He doesn't like to talk about it much though. 

I'm assuming by now that you have gathered some information about me, but let me fill you in just in case. My name is Sherlock Elizabeth Watson. I am fifteen years old and I live in a little flat on Baker Street with my Mum, Mary Elizabeth Watson, and my dad, Dr. John Hamish Watson. I have a pet cat named Arthur, a somewhat obnoxious love of puzzles and riddles of any kind, and a poor habit of being unable to control my mouth when I begin my deductions.

Not that I can control when I begin my deductions either, but what can I say? You never really stop being extremely clever I guess.

This year, little did I realize, was going to be quite a doozie. 

Fasten your seatbelts.

SW


	2. A study in Internships and Secrets

Three days after the church scandal exposé, dad finally let me out of the house, and so I took this opportunity to return to my secret job.  
As your probably have guessed, I dont have a normal teen job. I unofficially work for Detective Inspector Lestrade as a assistant detective of sorts. I don't get payed, but I enjoy the work and the title is very official sounding.

On this particular day we were on the scene of a murder in Paddington Street Gardens. The victim had pierced on each side of his neck by a sharp device at around six 'o' clock in the morning on his daily commute to work.

"It's very obvious that he was murdered by his boss Mr. Banch," Anderson said coming up beside me and Lestrade and examining the body."

"That's a possibility we can't yet discount," said Lestrade.

"Except we can," I rose from where I was kneeling beside the victim, " the victim was murdered by having needles of sorts pierced into his neck, puncturing major arteries and bleeding to death. I say that it's the Neighbor, Mrs. Wilkes, who killed him."

"What makes you say that?" Said Lestrade.

"It's obvious really," I replied, "she is the only one of our suspects with any obvious connection to an item that could have made this exact wound."

"Her knitting needles?" asked Anderson.

"Right. And she was the only one with knowledge of his daily commute, and the right motive."

"I guess I better go and make the arrest," Lestrade, walking off to tell the other members of The Yard.

Me and Anderson stood over the body in silence for a second be for he spoke.

"How did you figure all of that out?" He asked me.

"Simple observation." I said with a very Victorian tone in my voice, like I suspected the detectives in my old mystery novels sounded.

"Ah, I see." Anderson replied, mimicking my accent. I laughed as we walked off to the street and I hailed a cab.

"You've got that summer internship in the bag, everyone he knows you're more than ready. Your application is sure to be accepted," Anderson said as I got in.

"That's the easy part."

I closed the door and the cab began to drive. We were halfway to Baker Street when I got a text.

Baker Street.  
Supper's ready.

Mum

The cab pulled up in front of 221b Baker Street and I got out. I payed and thanked the cabbie and headed inside.  
Mum was setting the table when I walked in. 

"Hello Shezza," she said, giving me a side hug.

"Hello mum. What's for dinner?" I already knew the answer, but I liked to ask anyway. It gave me something to talk about. Mum gave me a look. She knew this, but humored me anyhow.

"Chicken and peas."

"Yum."

"Hello Eliza," said dad as he walked in the kitchen, "where have you been?"

"You know, the library. I've run out of mystery novels," I hated lying to my dad, but if he knew that I was with The Yard, working on another murder case, he would kill me. He wasn't very fond of the idea of me being a assistant detective. I never asked why.

"I see." He seemed to buy it, because he dropped the issue. "Chicken and peas for dinner Mary?" He asked mum. I took this as an opportunity to run up to my room and update my journal.  
I kept a journal about all of the cases I've participated in, and subsequently solved. This was probably the shortest case I've had in the past month. It's becoming hard to hide this from dad, but mum helps me a little.  
She thinks that me solving cases with be sort of like an outlet for me, and that it may make me less likely to have random deduction outbursts. 

I closed my journal, tucked it under my in its secret spot, and slid down the banister and into the living room. I walked I the kitchen and fixed my self a drink then sat down for dinner with my mum and dad.

I had almost cleared my plate when I finally got the courage to bring it up.

"Mum, dad," I started, "I want to apply for an summer internship at The Yard. Detective Inspector Lestrade thinks that I'm ready and it's something that I have wanted for a long time." 

"I don't see any problem with that," mum said. I wasn't worried about what she would say, "What do you think, John?"

My dad set his fork down, "I see quite a few problems with that Mary, one of which being the fact that I don't want my daughter anywhere near things like this! She's far to young to be near murderers and criminals!" Mum look frustrated. 

"John, it's time we let our daughter make decisions for herself, and if this is what she wants, then we should support her. That's our job." 

"I will support her in anything but this. I will not allow it. Absolutely not!" He slammed his fist down on the table knocking over the salt.

"This is what I want dad. Why can't you see that?" I asked him, I was beginning to lose my cool.

"Eliza I will not allow it. You know where I stand, your just too young-"

"WHY DONT YOU TRUST ME DAD? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO MAKE YOU NOT TRUST ME?" I yelled at him. I stood up and ran without a word up the stairs.

"Shezza, honey, please," mum called after me but I ignored her. I ran up to my room, tears streaming down my face. I had tried to be rational. I had tried to keep my cool. Why did he still not trust me?

I sat on my bed for about an hour. Thinking about the conversation with my father and the way I had treated him. I realized that if I wanted him to trust me, I had to be more responsible than how I had been.

I slowly crept down the stairs, then stopped. I peeked from behind the wall and saw mum and dad sitting at the kitchen table, right where they were when I had stormed off.  
Dad was crying.

"I want to support her Mary, I really do, it's just- I'm afraid." Mum put an arm around his shoulders and held him close. "She's just- She just like him." He began to sob some more.

"I know, I know," mum said.

"She's so much like him, that I worry she might end up like he did. And if that happened, because of something I let her do, I could never live with myself. I miss him Mary, and I can't lose her too."

"I know, honey. I know how close you and Sherlock Holmes were, and it must have hurt after what happened to him. I'll go see if I can't talk to Shez." Mum stood up, and I ran back up the stairs as quietly as I could. I jumped on my bed just seconds before mum came into my room.  
I pretended to be asleep. I didn't really want to talk to anyone after what I just heard. Mum stood in the doorway for a minute, then walked back down stairs. My mind was racing. I went to my mind palace. I began running up and down the library isles but I found nothing. I, Sherlock Elizabeth Watson, being of sound mind and body, was stumped.

Who was Sherlock Holmes?

SW


	3. A study in old friends and confrontations (part 1)

I woke up around 7:00 the next morning and caught a cab to The Yard. Lestrade wanted me there early to help him file the paperwork on yesterday's arrest.  
Traffic was a monster, but is managed to get there just in time to see Lestrade striding out of the building with Sargent Sally Donovan in tow.

"Morning little freak," She said to me. I could tell by her tone that she meant this in an affectionate way.

"Morning Donovan," I smiled.

"Shez, right on time," Lestrade said as I fell into step with the crew, "We've got a good one."

"Yes!" I said, grinning, "What's the sitch?"

"There was a body found in the meat locker in a butcher's shop on Glentworth Street," said Donovan.

"That's not that big of a deal," I said.

"I'm not done," said Donovan, "the body wasn't there at closing the night before, there are no windows in the meat locker and the door was completely locked."

We went over to the parking lot and got into a police car. 

"Who's on staff?" I asked.

"Me and Donovan here, and then Anderson on forensics, and we have a med team that should be there in about an hour," said Lestrade.

"Good. We'll need it." I said.

We arrived at the butcher's shop and were greeted, in a way, by a short, stocky man in a crisp white apron and gray trainers. He told us me what Lestrade had just said and led us back to the meat locker.  
The door swung open with a heavy metal creak.

"How old is the body?" I asked.

"Um. Looks to be about four days old," said Anderson.

"That can't be possible," said Donovan, "the body wasn't here yesterday."

I knelt beside the body and examined it. 

"I'm going to start with the obvious," I said,"It's a man, looking to be about his mid-thirties, dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, mild wrinkling around the mouth suggests that he was a regular smoker. His hair is prematurely thinning, which means he probably has a highly stressful job. His coat is expensive, which means that he's most likely in a high paying job, unless it's a gift which is unlikely, but not exactly impossible."  
I checked his pockets and found a wallet.  
"Ah. Here we go. The wallet is empty of any cash, which brings up the possibility of a mugging. His wallet includes pictures of a family but it seems that someone was cut out of the picture. It looks like it's his son. This means that he probably kicked his son out of the house for some reason, could be life decisions, statistically speaking, it's more likely it's a misunderstood mental disease, other than that he looks happily married and has two, rather beautiful children other than the son."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Asked Lestrade.

"Not sure yet," I replied.

"Oh, we also found this," said Anderson, and he handed me a pocket-sized notepad.  
I flip it open and immediately notice intentions on the page left over from whatever was written last.

"I need a pencil." Donovan reached in her pocket and pulled out a pencil and handed it to me.

"Thanks." I rub the pencil across the page and writing appears. "Lestrade, come take a look at this."

I handed the notebook to Lestrade and he briefly skimmed the page. I reached back into the man's wallet and pulled out an drivers license. 

"We've got a name," I said, "Alexander Jacobs. Donovan, can we get any background info on this guy?" I asked Donovan, throwing her the drivers license.

"I'm on it. I swear you are just like him aren't you?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. "Just like who?" I asked with urgency in my voice.

"Oh, no one," Donovan says.

"Donovan. Who am I just like?" I ask again. She gives Lestrade a look that she thinks I can't see. I almost always see things that people think I can't see. Donovan sighs, and then speaks.

"There was a man who used to work here, few years back. He was very clever, and he liked people to know it. He didn't work here officially. He just came because he really enjoyed it. He really got off on it. He loved working with murder cases. And he was really good at them too, just like you. Called himself a 'consulting detective', he did," She had a nostalgic look on her face as he continued, "He was one of those people who could tell your whole life story just by the way you part your hair and how you breathe. He had a partner. You know him."

"Who was the partner?" I asked.

"Your dad."

No. No it can't be.  
My dad the overprotective parent. My dad the doctor. My dad, the short man with a bad leg could not be an assistant consulting detective.

"What was his name?" I asked "The consulting detective, what was his name?"

"Sherlock Holmes." 

I knew it. 

My phone buzzed. I got a text.

Baker Street.  
We need to talk.

Dad

He was right. We sure did need to talk.  
I excused myself and called a cab.


	4. A study in old friends and new secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one of two... Or three. Idk.

I decided that I would take a day off the next day and stay home. I felt bad going behind my dad's back after what happened yesterday.

I spent most of the morning watching reruns of old crime shows with mum while dad was at work. She really hates watching crime shows with me because I always figure it out before she does. Every now and then though, I let her be the first one to figure it out, just to change things up a bit. Today was one of those days.

"Ha HA! The man with the scar was the one who kidnapped the barbers daughter, not the trench coat lady!" She said.

'Well obviously,' I thought to myself 'the trench coat lady had to many positive connections with the barber to commit the crime. And she was in the hospital in a coma for the last three episodes.'

"I guessed it before YOU did!" Mum sang as she skipped around the couch.

Sure you did, mum.

Dad got home from work a few episodes after and joined us on the couch.

After a while, mum complained of a headache and went to bed, leaving me and dad alone with the dull hum of overly obvious mysteries playing in the background.

"Hey dad," I asked.

"Hmm?"

"Want to play chess?"

"Sure." He said as he switched off the tellie and pulled the dusty board game off of the shelf.

"What's up?" He asked me as he set up his pawns.

"Nothing. Does something have to be up for me to want to spen a little quality time with my pops?" I nudged him.

"Okay now I KNOW something's up," He laughed, "What is it Eliza?"

"Well... I was wondering... Do you know Sherlock Holmes?"

Thankfully my reflexes are on point, or I would have been hit in the head with the shards of the rook that he broke when I asked him this.

"Why do you want to know about Sherlock Holmes?" He said once he had regained his composure.

"Well, I heard you and mum talking about him yesterday."

Dad sighed a big sad sigh. 

"Alright. A years before you were born I worked as an assistant consulting detective at the Yard-"

"-You worked at the Yard?" 

"Yeah, and my partner was Sherlock-well I was more of his sidekick, but anyway- we were good friends, and we used to share this flat together until one day...We were trying to stop a man named Jim Moriarty and-" his voice cracked, "he... He did something stupid and selfish that he though would help but it really didn't." He packed up the chess board and put it back on the shelf. "It scares me Eliza. You remind me of him so much, I'm afraid that one day something is going to happen while you're on a case and you are going to think what you're about to do is the right thing, and you are going to jump off the roof of a building without even thinking about how it might hurt the people who loved you!" He sat down in a chair and began to cry.

"Dad I-"

"-no...no it's fine," he wiped his eyes, "it was a long time ago."

I decided that the best idea would be to leave him alone, so I kissed him good night and went up to my room. 

It wasn't until about 1:30 in the morning when I finally heard the sound of his cane heading for the bedroom.

(End of chapter 4 part one)


End file.
